Double Double Agent
by Deep Purple Sky
Summary: François is French with unusual connections to Al Badr group, Mosad, the french, and now the English. The story of his life in Cherub


**This is my first fic, and I'm just borowing some ideas from Cherub and adding my own. Actually it's more like I'm seeing how bad I can mess up this kid's life.**

* * *

Mac read over the file, François had grown up in France where he had been educated in six different languages: German, Arabic, Hebrew, English, French, and Spanish, karate and taken an advanced curriculum in school. Until his parents had died, then, British by birth he moved to England to stay with his 87-year-old grandmother who had just died last week. François now lived in Uxbridge children's home, and had taken to using his karate skills against other children. "This one looks promising, extremely promising," Dr. McAfferty addressed his secretary. 

That was how it was decided, the next day François woke up in a room that might have belonged to any child with someone who had money to pay for it. It was a far stretch from the Uxbridge Children's home, and for that François was grateful. He put on the clean clothes that had been laid out on the floor, an orange T-shirt, green trousers and a pair of combat boots.

He walked out into the hallway, "Where am I?" he asked. In fact he knew exactly where he was, and didn't even need the response he got.

"Can't talk to orange," said the man in a similar, but blue shirt. François's frown revealed nothing of his inner thoughts, _smart, that way if I say no I won't know anyone anyways._ He headed to the elevator at the end of the corridor and got in. A pleading look at the current occupant of the elevator and the man leant forward to press another button. François got off as the man indicated he should. And continued following silent instructions until he wound up sitting in a leather chair in a small office across from a man François had been told was called Dr. McAfferty.

"I'm Dr. McAfferty, but you can call me Mac," he introduced himself.

François began, rather bluntly, "I know this may seem like an odd question, but where am I?

This time he got an answer, "CHERUB, you're in the Birchwood building right now, it contains our cafeteria, upper residential hall, and administration offices. What do you think?"

"It's all very nice and rather swanky compared to my previous residence, but could you please explain how I got here?"

"You were drugged," was the simple reply François received from Mac, and before François could interrupt Mac continued, "Our facilities are extensive and our curriculum is intensive. We have four swimming pools, a shooting range, a state of the art dojo, two gymnasiums, all-weather sports fields, and track, and state-of-the-art academic buildings…"

"Who pays for all this?"

"The government, you're smart and we want you here. We have only two requirements before we allow you to attend, the first is that you pass our entrance exam and the second is that you agree to be a member of British Intelligence."

"So the government pays for it because we spy for them, not because we're smart."

"In a manner of thinking, you spy for the government because you're smart. Now to the entrance exam."

* * *

Later that evening, François was cleaning up in his room and was just about to leave to pack up his things and move on to campus permanently. Mac was in his office speaking to the training instructor, Root. "He passed every single test with flying colors, he already speaks four languages fluently, his verbal and mathematical skills qualify him as a genius, and he must be at least 5th dan in karate. I expect you to make training hard for him, but don't expect him having the least amount of trouble in training him. I want him to realize the importance of teamwork on his own. Make the kids lives hell, and they'll all stick together, it's psychological," Mac informed Root. 

"If all you say is true, does he actually need the training?" Root asked in the civil manner he reserved only for people he wasn't trying to train.

"Not at all, but he does need the standard treatment, and he needs to fail, cocky children are trouble for everyone. I need him partnered with Laura, she needs to pass training for the Lox mission, and see to it that Laura takes French. You'll meet him at training in two days. That'll be all," Mac dismissed Root with a wave of his hand.

* * *

So it was by this turn of events that François had found himself at five in the morning two days later squatting in the fetal position with pain riveting up his legs. He couldn't remember exactly what this exercise was supposed to be punishment for, but was not concerned. François was an old hand at training camps, and was well aware that this pointless exercise was for the purpose of causing him physical stress and to become angry, and that it was not intended as punishment. The trainers played a manipulative game, it was something he had noticed his second time in training, in France. They wanted you to start off angry at each other so that it seemed like everyone's idea when you realized that teamwork is the only way to get through this. In some ways it felt good to be ahead of the competition, but in others it felt almost like a punishment, he was being put through basic training again, and it wasn't exactly the most enjoyable experience. François then thought again and decided that this was only 100 days; he'd already had 365 days with Mosad and 120 with the French. It seemed that the Brits didn't train for so long, but when he had visited the campus it seemed that the spent everyday training, basic was only for eligibility on missions. He wasn't in the least bit concerned; at the end of the day they really don't want to kill you.

* * *

Laura had brown hair and darker eyes; her face was so similar to François' own he would have no trouble convincing anyone they were twins. François knew she had never done anything close to basic training, but she learned quickly and didn't complain or make mistakes. François knew she was a good partner, and it was their silent agreement to always help each other. Laura was quick to understand that Root only wanted to make them angry and she wouldn't satisfy his taunts. He felt that he couldn't have gotten anyone better, he also knew that no matter how soft, weak, or in need of protection a girl might seem, with the right training, anyone might surpass him in any skill area. Every morning they would run the assault course and, of course, finish first. Usually Laura would ask him a few questions about French, and François would ask her a few questions about math. They both got along extremely well for two people provoked against each other by a certain training master. 

Laura could drive absolutely anything to a level of perfection that made François envious. When it came to snow mobiles, jeeps, and boats François left the driving to her. When it came to assault courses and fighting Laura left that to François. It seemed that they were the only ten-year-olds on the course who actually understood how to use their individual talents to complement each other, and so they prospered. They were punished for being hard to find excuses to punish, they were punished when other trainees messed up, and they were punished when Root felt like it. On the 94th day of their training they flew out to a small island just off the coast of Africa, they stayed that night at a beach resort on the Comoros.

* * *

François had never done anything quite like this, training exercises with the French and Israel weren't done far from home, he'd been on one mission somewhat similar, when he was seven, Mosad needed a cute little kid to go get lost in the jungle so that they could call in their own Israeli rescue team and basically have free range of fairly unexplored jungles. They "never found the boy," but that had been in Brazil, so François wasn't sure what to expect. He was however confident that he could deal with absolutely any surprises, that was probably the purpose of most of his training François thought, to make me overtly confident. Confident people get other people to follow them, and they take the necessary risks. Laura trusted his unusually large experience in wilderness survival, and he would exhume confidence purely for her, and Root's benefit. 

The next morning they set out on a motorboat, they must have traveled some way because despite the fact the boat was going at about 75 nautical miles per hour it still took them 6 hours to reach what must have been an enormous island from where they stood, the coast stretched all the way across the horizon. "Out, Laura, François," Root barked. Laura and François obeyed and soon found themselves all alone thigh-deep in water with extremely heavy packs on their backs. Laura sighed, "Let's get to shore then see if we can find some sort of instructions." François thought _she's scared. What sort of stories do they tell about training? But she's thinking, I lucked out as far as partners go…_

Laura was slightly nervous, but she simply played it by the book and let the rules take auto-pilot. François was doing exactly the same thing, allowing his mind to continue with its interesting dialogue about Laura. Awed by the fact that he was finding ways in which to respect someone who hadn't even completed basic training, he shook his head and started walking.


End file.
